Breakfast and Other Issues
by holmes7
Summary: Set after DH. Harry Potter and Severus Snape share a flat due to the imminent demise of a certain Potions Master. They survive the living arrangement long enough to make an interesting story out of a plot bunny... NOT SLASH.
1. Start the Morning Right with Breakfast!

The DISCLAIMER…. (drumroll): I don't own Harry Potter or any other character or any part of the world that JKR created. The woman is a genius. Kudos.

_Author's Note_: Author's Notes will always be at the end of the chapter. Except this once. Because I have to write the obligatory: "Please don't read this story if you haven't read ANY of the 7 books… As there are spoilers for all of them, but especially the last."

**Chapter 1: Start the Morning Right with Breakfast!**

If anyone had told Harry Potter that he would be sharing a flat with one Severus Snape after defeating Voldemort, he would have told them to go fuck themselves and then proceed to let Voldemort take over the wizarding world and destroy Muggle civilization.

Fortunately, no one told him. And Voldemort had definitely been decaying for the last month at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, about seventy miles southwest of Oahu.

So the Boy-Who-Lived-_Twice_-to-be-Flatmates-with-the-Snarky-Bastard could only long for the good ol' days with helpless nostalgia.

By all rights, the tall man cooking breakfast before him should be dead. He had the puncture scar from Nagini's bite sure enough, but Snape hadn't walked into The Snake's lair unprepared. Harry still hadn't heard the full story behind Snape's miraculous appearance at his doorstep one month after the Final Battle, but one of these days he'd get it out of the man.

Harry stood up from the table where he had collapsed with a cup of coffee—cream added—and began washing the few dishes in the sink. They had shared the apartment for only a week and already the Potions Master had claimed the kitchen as his own. It was quite irritating, actually.

"So, Snape, how long did you say you have?"

A pause lingered as the professor grated over the fact that he could no longer distract the boy with a "_Professor_ Snape, Mr Potter."

"How long until _what,_ Potter?"

Dishes clanked. "Eh, the potion stops working and you croak."

"About the same time the lease is up. Convenient."

"We're out of dish soap."

"You're the one with the fortune."

Harry set the table viciously before resuming his old seat. Grabbing the coffee mug, he brought the mug up to his lips so quickly coffee spilled over the edge onto his hand. "Fuck!" Setting the mug down just as quickly, he shook the scalding liquid off.

"Should the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice be using such foul language?"

"I'm Harry Potter, not fucking Jesus Christ."

"That's obvious." Snape divided the eggs between their plates and put a plate of toast on the table. A pitcher of orange juice soon followed and the Potions Master finally joined Harry.

After a few bites, Harry said pointedly, "I'm making breakfast tomorrow."

"No you're not. I want to live as long as possible."

"Isn't it a little too cliché for the Potions Master to enjoy cooking?"

"I enjoy watching you sit there and feel completely useless because some Muggles taught you to equate your worth with how crispy the bacon turned out."

"Now you're just trying to piss me off."

"Will you deny this man a little amusement on his death bed?"

"You have six months. And I cook a damn good breakfast."

"Probably."

"I'll prove it!"

"Listen to yourself, boy."

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, then Harry took their plates to the sink. "I'll pick some dish soap up this afternoon."

"You have the fortune."

Tentatively, Harry asked, "And your plans for today?" He was craving a good fettuccini alfredo—with grilled chicken. And he wanted to cook it himself, dammit. True, he had just polished off a large breakfast, but he was a 17-year-old young man, with the constant hunger associated with the age.

And he wanted to cook!

"I'm going to visit Minerva. Compared to present company, the conversation will be positively engaging. And I would like to die with the knowledge that my portrait will _not_ be hanging inbetween Albus' and Phineas'. While I'm there, the new Potions Professor and I might as well get… acquainted."

In Harry's mind's eye, the grill on the patio was lit, the chicken on top was juicy, the saucepan was filled with simmering alfredo sauce—

"Or I may stay here and wait as my insides rot."

The Boy-Who-Lived gave his Potions Master a sharp look. The tall man was breathing laboriously, his head bowed slightly.

"I am definitely cooking breakfast tomorrow," said Harry.

"_What did I_—"

"Give it up, Snape!" exploded Harry, breaking the monstrous tension that had been building quickly and strongly over the last week.

A raised black eyebrow demanded an explanation for his outburst.

"Ok, Snape, believe it or not, I _do not _equate you with the Dursleys. You saved my life a few too many times for that. Besides, you're _dying_—something I have and can deal with—and I chose to stay here so you wouldn't have some stranger taking you to the bath—"

"—that 'saving people' thing—"

"—no! Are you going to make me bring up my mother? That—" Harry's voice caught for a second. Then he said, in a completely different tone, "Ginny's coming over for dinner tonight. What should we have?"

"Thai from that restaurant across the street."

"That's what we had last night." Cautiously, Harry suggested, "I was thinking some Italian—maybe alfredo sauce over fettuccini with chicken grilled to perfection—you know, something not spiced so hot you can smell it a block down."

Snape coughed piteously and wheezed. "…my lungs…"

"Oh fuck! We'll have the fucking Thai. The usual fucking Thai."

"Language, Potter."

"Go fuck yourself." Harry grabbed his bookbag. "I'll be gone for most of the day." He walked out the door.

A smug grin of self-satisfaction watched him leave. What better way to spend his last months than tormenting the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived?

A head topped with _very_ messy black hair popped back in and said, "Ok, I'm getting dish soap. Do you need anything?"

"Thai."

The head disappeared, a hand replacing it, one finger effectively reflecting Harry's feelings toward the Potions Master over the last seven years.

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

_A-Long-Author's-Note-At-The-Bottom_: I plan on writing more. Definitely. And the chapters will not be this short. I'm just putting my toes into the water tentatively, seeing how you all like this insanity. Will this story be Severitus? I'm still mulling that one over. I really wanted to write a story canon with the entire series. Let me know what you think and I will take it into account as I write. What's the point of reviews otherwise?

And this story will not be slash. Sorry, folks. They're already roommates—I think that's torture enough for the both of them!

Also, I haven't had a chance to visit England. So please forgive the many Americanisms! Harry won't be saying "Fo shizzle, yo" or "Chillax, dude" anytime soon, but the time it would take to painstakingly translate American English into British English would greatly increase the time between updates. And that's sad.


	2. Wheezing

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Sad.

**Chapter 2: Wheezing**

Harry found it extremely difficult to keep his pace measured as he walked down the lane toward Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. The Hogsmeade branch of the popular joke shop had opened just a month before and was making Zonko's very nervous. He could have flooed directly there but slamming the door made a much better exit than vanishing quietly into a fireplace. And he didn't want to show up at the store angry and vulnerable to Weasley pranks.

He grinned as he remembered a lush swamp fenced off in the hallway, fireworks so close to Dolores Fucking Umbridge you could see her hair singe in the heat, Canary Creams…

…Fred.

Harry was walking so fast he had to adjust his bag so the weight was centered at his back.

He still couldn't look Molly Weasley in the eye. Arthur avoided him. Harry knew the good man didn't mean to shun him. The fact was Arthur's behavior subconsciously mirrored the rest of the Wizarding World's—mingled with stunned joy was a fervent desire to forget anything ever happened. And the Boy-Who-Lived-Again was an integral part of those events. Harry Potter had never felt less famous but more conspicuous in his life.

Predictably, George was having the worst time with Fred's passing. Harry couldn't be in the same room as Forge without instinctively looking for Gred. But George himself looked around every few minutes, expecting his twin to help him convince a customer to try a Quack Quotes Quill or toss Ginny into a bin of Tickling Thimbles. Then complete bewilderment would shadow his thin face, usually followed by ducking into the backroom "to count stock."

Ron had left for Australia with Hermione a few weeks ago to help her parents adjust to life without memory charms. Last he heard, the Grangers took the news rather well that they really weren't Wendell and Monica Wilkins. They had a thriving practice in Australia, however, and weren't too keen on returning to England soon, even with Voldemort gone.

Throwing his bag to the ground, Harry started running down the deserted street.

Ron was the easiest to be around—even easier than Ginny. That first week after the Final Battle, that was the worst. They tried to hide it from him but nothing could cover the evidence of prolonged grief. Harry found a part of him was extremely jealous. He couldn't grieve. He had tried. He just got frustrated and wanted to hit something.

Why did a cheerful mate have to go? Couldn't Snape have died instead?

He remembered how he felt while viewing Snape's memories, when he truly thought the spy was dead: realizing he had been wrong the whole time, that a childhood friend of Lily's had been staring him in the face for years and he hadn't known. The stories the professor must have!

Harry smirked. As if Snape would ever share those stories in the first place. He would still trade Snape for anyone who had died during the final battle, especially Lupin or Tonks. More than anything, he hated the fact Teddy Lupin was now an orphan.

Harry turned and ran back to his bag.

Much slower than before, he resumed his walk.

**oooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Snape had had worse mornings—much worse, in fact.

If Severus Snape whistled, he would be now. Really, other than his imminent death, things were quite good. The Dark Lord—_Voldemort—_would never interfere with his life again.

Those moments between Nagini's bite and the Dark Lord's exit from the Shrieking Shack were the most nerve-wracking of his life. That was saying quite a lot. But those moments were all that was needed to remind the Potions Master of his debt to Lily and subsequently, the strange force inside him that compelled him to look after her son. And the Dark Lord was still very much alive at that point.

So after giving Potter the necessary memories—and a few extra in case his potion completely failed as he had never had a chance to test it, _thank Merlin_—he withdrew a needle from his robes and administered the potion directly into his veins.

Snape took a moment to glare at his left arm. The Mark was gone. But now he looked like a fucking heroine addict.

The Potions Master spent a month at Spinner's End, trying in vain to brew something that would completely eradicate Nagini's poison. The damn snake venom multiplied itself and seamlessly attached to his blood cells, becoming an integral part of his biology. The potion managed to decrease the poison's spread dramatically, but there was no way to flush the venom without a full circulatory system transfusion—blood _and_ organs—impossible even by wizarding healing methods.

After realizing he had six months of borrowed time before his organs failed, Snape decided to spend those last six months doing what he did best—saving Harry Potter from himself.

The Boy-Who-Lived knew Death Eaters had survived the Final Battle and were bent on his destruction, but where did he decide to live? Right smack in the middle of bloody Hogsmeade! Even Snape had had the sense to wait until it was dark to find Potter's front door, though the whole Wizarding World thought he died in the Shrieking Shack. Potter and a house elf were the only two who knew he was alive.

And soon Ginny Weasley. Snape grimaced. Spending an evening with two forlorn and lovesick teenagers made his lungs hurt.

Or were they actually hurting?

The Potions Master withdrew a needle nimbly, found a vein, and let the potion go. The ache in his lungs subsided slightly, but he couldn't help but wonder if he had been ambitious with his earlier diagnosis. Six months might be optimistic.

Standing slowly, his black robes hiding his extremely thin frame, he wandered over to the kitchen and looked out the small window over the sink. The sun had come out fully.

Soon, Severus Snape was asleep on the small patio outside the apartment, the shades drawn to the point where the sun barely filtered through. Anyone walking by could only see him if they went right up to the patio. However, an alarm would warn the Potions Master and he would be in the house faster than he had ever cursed a rose bush hiding a pair of snogging students.

Being dead was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Harry stood outside Weasleys Whizarding Wheezes, staring at the front door. It was a standard wood door, its dark finish tinted red. The white lettering curved across the front popped out and the gold knob wore a cheeky sign that said "Turn me."

A young witch walked by, her eyes lingering on him before he nodded in her direction. She made as if she had been interested in a nearby sale sign and rushed off.

Any cheer that had been left in him dispersed with that interaction. He took one more look at the joke shop and turned around.

He didn't know where he was going. He just needed to go.

His flight took him right on the edge of an alley. Looking down, he was surprised to see it resembled Knockturn Alley. But that was in London, far from Hogsmeade.

A warning signal went off in his head.

He ignored it. A few curious steps in, and the sun seemed to die. Something about the dim street, the anonymity of the darkness gave him courage and he charged on.

Passing a storefront that looked suspiciously like Borgins & Burkes, he stayed close to the dirty alley walls, his small stature hidden in the shadows.

"Dearie, do you have a Knut to spare?" croaked an old witch huddled in one corner.

"Eh, not now…" mumbled Harry, side-stepping her out-stretched hand, which then clasped to his ankle.

Beadie eyes looked up at him, belonging to a filthy face that was much younger than he originally thought. "I'll give you anything, honey. Anything." The hungry smirk on her face betrayed her.

"No, really, I…"

"No Knuts then!" cried the witch. "For free! Just a touch…"

Swallowing, his throat dry, he reached down and freed his ankle, backing up quickly as soon as the hand retreated back into the woman's cloak.

His revulsion retreated as the danger did.

What could drive this woman to offer herself—her freedom and her body—for just a touch?

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Patricia Yaxley."

Why did the name sound so familiar? He waited for the telltale *ding* of the lightbulb turning on but got no such response.

"There's a shelter a few blocks down that can help you more—"

Whimpering interrupted him, then sobs, and he fled the alley before Patricia Yaxley could say another pathetic word.

Stepping into the bright sunlight, he understand why the woman stayed in the shadows.

Walking quickly, he hurried back to his flat. Snape was there, true, but at least he didn't try to gloss over the past. He had an annoying habit of stating the worst and driving Harry up the wall with his biting sarcasm. But he didn't tiptoe around his feelings or give him pats on the head.

And right now, the Boy-Who-Lived could do with some bluntness.

The last seven years felt foggy, filled with deception—however meaningful it might have been—and almost, in a way, nonexistent from his current life.

Harry snorted. His current _life._ Yeah, what did he do? He cooked. He babysat Teddy Tonks every Friday so the grandparents could have a night off. He discovered Muggle video games and realized why Dudley was so obsessed. When he could stomach it, he visited Ginny at the Weasleys' shop. She was filling Fred's position to the best of her ability during the summer, being extremely clever with charms. They hadn't officially gotten back together yet, mostly because Harry couldn't get rid of the pit in his stomach that appeared every time he saw the front door of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes… or anything Weasley, for that matter.

He played around with the idea of finding a part-time job, just to distract him and pass the time. He knew many shops who would hire the Boy-Who-Lived before the words "Are you hiring?" passed his lips, but it wouldn't be due to his experience or qualifications. And that bothered him.

Eventually, he would apply for Auror training. Now, he didn't feel ready. Something kept him from taking that step—a hesitance or doubt that began with the grief of his friends and fed off his own grief and guilt with every passing day.

He had arrived. Taking a deep breath, Harry opened the front door and looked in. Snape was nowhere to be seen.

Walking quietly down the hallway to his room, he closed the door behind him and shoved Zelda: the Wind Waker into the Gamecube.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

_Author's Note:_ One more chapter! It's a bit longer than the last one, though not as long as I had hoped. I had to delete this immediately after I first posted it, so I apologize if anyone got two alerts. Found a glaring mistake and had to fix it before I was stoned!

This definitely won't be Severitus—it doesn't need to be. In fact, I believe it will stay completely Canon, unless I make an accidental mistake. In which case, I'm sure I'll be informed of said mistake and duly remedy the situation. ;)

Thanks for the Britpicking! I will definitely take those into account as I write… I'm afraid I'll have to start a list somewhere…

University classes start tomorrow, but I promise I'll update as often as my insane schedule allows!


	3. The Issue of Dinner

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Meh.

**Chapter 3: The Issue of Dinner**

About five o'clock, the smell of garlic and basil floated through the house, teasing the large nose of one Severus Snape. The sun had set and he had managed to sleep the day through on the patio. A natural night owl, the last month had been the first time in years he had had a good night's sleep—between the hours of noon and five pm.

The smell of dinner urged him awake and he opened his lids reluctantly.

What had the boy ordered?

From the spices drifting through the door, he would guess something with a lot of parmesan cheese and basil and… sour cream? What Thai had parmesan and sour cream?

Standing suddenly and sneering, Snape rushed through the door like he used to swoop through the Potions classroom.

Sure enough, Harry Potter was cooking fettuccini alfredo. Snape raised an eyebrow as he watched the boy add a pinch of oregano. He doubted the quality of a dinner that definitely _wasn't_ Thai and prepared from scratch by one of his worst Potions students.

"Potter!"

The Boy-Who-Lived jumped a little, spilling the alfredo sauce he was taste-testing.

Snape smirked. He should have had the boy taste his potions—maybe he would have done better. Honestly, he had never had a worse Potions student. Where had Lily's genes gone? Besides the green eyes?

Reminded embarrassingly of his request to Harry when he thought he might really be finished—"Look at me"—he focused on the present and the fact the alfredo sauce definitely wasn't a yellow curry sauce.

Potter added parsley to his concoction. "It's almost finished," he stated simply. "Sit down."

The Potions Master remained standing. "_Thai_, Potter?"

"Go get it, if you really want it."

Damn it, the boy _knew_ he couldn't be seen in public. "Is the garlic fresh?"

"And finely chopped, yes."

Snape sat. The table was already set for two. Either he was expected to eat in the parlor—a welcome alternative to eating with Potter and his love—or Ginny Weasley wasn't joining them.

When Potter served up the fettuccini, which was quickly topped with the handmade alfredo, it was obvious Ginny Weasley was missing out on a good dinner.

They ate quietly and quickly, Snape leaving immediately afterward to read in the parlor.

Harry sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the blank TV in front of him. Dinner had taken just a few minutes to clean up and, having beat Windwaker earlier, he had run out of distractions. He missed Hogwarts. At least there he was always occupied with homework or brainstorming ways to get rid of Voldemort.

Harry stood and left his room, walking through the parlor to the front door.

"Where are you going at this hour?"

Harry kept his back to the Potions Master. "It's only nine o'clock."

"Potter, have you forgotten that some of my dear comrades are still out there?" Snape then murmured something so low, Harry turned to look at him.

"What?"

"By all means, go out. I could use some peace in my last months."

Harry slumped into the opposite recliner. "You could have lived with someone else, you know. Why me?"

"I'll tell you with my last breath," replied Snape with a growl. "If you're lucky."

"You already did."

Snape's black eyes pierced him. "Touche."

An awkward pause.

"Where were you going?"

"I was going to grab Twilight Princess, if you must know."

Snape's eyebrows shot up. "Does Ginny know you're bringing home prostitutes with terrible street names?"

Harry couldn't hold in his laughter, though he tried, so an odd snorting was the result. "It's a video game. Like the other one I've been playing."

"Of course. Ridiculous waste of time and teenage energy."

Harry stood up. "Yes. Now, please excuse me."

Snape glared at him. "Potter, sit down. You seem to be in quite a hurry to die at the hands of a rouge Death Eater."

Harry put his hand on the doorknob. "I need to go."

"Why does The-Boy-Who-Lived need to play a game where he runs around in a green tunic—very Slytherin—and uses a sword to hack at things? And moving boxes and breaking pottery… I forgot exactly how captivating _that_ can be. Does Harry Potter need his douse of heroics every day, or will he feel like an inadequate Gryffindor if he spends just one day saving no one?"

Harry wasn't going to let the Potions Master egg him on this time. He chose to focus instead on the professor's sudden and unexpected knowledge of Muggle video games. "How do you know about Zelda?"

"I have lived with you for a week and that's all you've done. Naturally, I had to find out what was so enthralling that you spend literally hours a day playing it. So was I right? Is that your douse of foolish heroics? Should I find another Dark Lord for you to defeat, since you're so starved for reckless adventure and the adulations of the masses? Maybe another Ginny Weasley for you to rescue? Would you like another set of abusive Muggle guardians as well?"

"FUCK YOU!"

A corner of Snape's mouth twitched.

Harry let go of the door and marched up to the sitting Potions Master, his green eyes snapping. "OUT!"

"You're going to throw a poor sick man out into the cold and scary night?"

"You fucking _love_ the night! You're a fucking vampire! Leave!"

"Not until you tell me why you spend so much time playing a ridiculous game."

"It's distracting! That's all! Now LEAVE!"

"Distracting from what?"

Harry's eyes narrowed.

The Potions Master insisted, a hard edge to his silky voice, "I'm not leaving until you tell me."

"Oh yes you are," growled Harry, grabbing Snape's left arm and forcing the man out of the chair viciously, with more force than either of them expected.

Before he could comprehend exactly what was happening, Harry felt his knees go out from under him and his arms wrenched back. A fog of terror suddenly descended, slowing his mind, almost freezing it. The old habit forced his body completely still. Every sense was on fire—everything had absolute clarity—and at the same time, every sense was dulled with dread and the need to survive. The-Boy-Who-Lived was playing dead.

The Potions Master said tightly, "Don't ever touch me again." He let go of Harry, who immediately collapsed into the chair behind him. "Now, why do you need the distraction?"

Harry fought through the irrational terror flooding his head and closed his eyes, focusing all his energy into pulling that emotion back. The present and the past mingled together, threatening to overpower him and leave his mind a puddle of incoherent mush. Taking a few deep breaths, he cleared the emotion with the force of pure will alone.

But he could feel it lurking at the back recesses of his mind, ready to come out again at a moment's notice.

"Potter, answer me!"

Truly terrified of the monster inside him that Snape had unwittingly awoken for the first time in years, Harry fled out the front door.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooo**

What_ had_ Snape just witnessed?

From Potter's reaction, the boy didn't really know either.

Severus Snape groaned and continued to follow Potter through Hogsmeade. Darkness had descended and the moon was new; sparse lamps lit his way down the dim street. A cool wind chased away the lingering heat of the day and the Potions Master had to make a conscious effort not to shiver for the first time in years.

Ahead of him, Potter was slowing. Snape matched his pace. His instincts screamed for him to leave the boy alone and since he had no desire to have a replay of Potter's episode in the flat, he followed those instincts. As long as no Death Eaters threatened Lily Evans' child, he would let the boy walk.

Potter turned a corner. Snape turned the same corner. Potter jumped over a puddle of water. Snape stepped over it.

Then Harry Potter sat on the edge of the sidewalk and did nothing but look straight ahead.

The Potions Master frowned and maintained his position a block away, still on the lookout for his old chums. He flicked a hypodermic needle out of his robes and made another injection of the potion into his arm. Squelching the histrionic urge to throw the syringe in the gutter with all of the despair of a junkie trying to go straight, he placed the needle back into his robes carefully.

Potter was still sitting.

What would the boy do if a syringe hit him in the forehead?

Before Snape could discover the answer, Potter stuck out his wand, the Knight Bus screeched to a halt in front of him, and the Boy-Who-Lived scrambled onto the bus.

"Bloody fucking Gryffindors!" spat the Potions Master viciously as he cast an eavesdropping charm.

Stan Shunpike's "'ang on!" was all Snape overheard before the bus popped out of the street.

**oooooooooooooooooooooo**

_Author's Note:_ Very sorry for the long wait! ...and this chapter wasn't as long as I hoped, but I wanted to end at a good point, instead of forcing another page through my tired brain for no reason. I hope this chapter was enjoyable and thanks to those who have reviewed and/or surreptitiously added me to their favorites or alerts. ;) You know who you are! Thanks! I will keep writing...


	4. The Odd Couple Squared

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling is not me or I wouldn't be driving buses in Alaska.

**Chapter 4: The Odd Couple Squared**

Securely gripping the metal bar beside him, Harry wasn't at all surprised to see the tall black silhouette of his old professor rush out from behind a dilapidated brick building. Snape cursed and Harry grinned. The Knight Bus popped out of the dim street.

He knew Severus Snape would not just let him go. When had the Potions Master ever trusted him with his own well-being?

The Knight Bus popped into the street right in front of Harry's flat, narrowly missing a white long-haired cat curled up on the pavement.

"Thanks, Ernie." He hopped off and ran through the front door, grabbing the broom that leaned in the hallway closet and a sturdy jacket. Running out the back door, he jumped on his broom and flew away from the building. The odd panic finally slipped from his mind, leaving a sense of dread and embarrassment.

He was free for the moment. The act of summoning the Knight Bus to get back to his own flat would confuse the Potions Master for a little while—until he noticed Harry's broom missing. By then, the Boy-Who-Lived would be long gone. At least, that was the plan.

Beyond that, Harry had no plans, no expectations—he merely followed the irresistible pull to _get away_.

For a few hours, he just flew. The wind rushed past his face and his nose. His ears chilled in the bitter night air and the bite restored his senses.

As his fingers numbed and started to grow hot with the first sign of impending frostbite, he decided to stop for a warm bowl of soup and a cup of tea. Spotting a cluster of lights ahead, he tipped his broom down and flew into a nearby forest where he stowed the broom.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Snape walked back to the apartment in long strides, his lips narrowed and eyes piercing. He almost broke the door down in his hurry to get inside and unceremoniously dumped his black cloak by the armchair of the sitting room.

Suddenly he stopped all movement and growled, "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Silence.

"Oh, come on," snarled the Potions Master. "I know exactly where you are."

From behind the couch, a red ponytail became visible before the rest of Ginny Weasley's head peeked over. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hanging open. Very reminiscent of the way Potter looked when he found Severus Snape on his front steps actually.

"Shut that gaping maw of yours, Ginny Weasley, and help me find your idiot of a boyfriend."

"Y-y-you're not—"

"—dead. Yes, I am quite aware of that."

"—n-n-not Severus Snape!" finished Ginny, her brown eyes suddenly firing up. "You can't be him! Bogart!" And with that, she threw _Riddikulus_ his way.

Snape dodged the spell nimbly. "Miss Weasley, I can't really be your worst nightmare?"

"Could happen!" cried the young woman, aiming her wand again.

Snape moved again, flicking his wand. Ginny's wand flew out of her hand and landed in his own. "Look, Miss Weasley, we don't have a lot of time. I'm sure there are worse villains than you lurking in wait for Potter. It is imperative we find him before they do."

"I wasn't lurking until _you_ barged in." She paused a second to take in Snape's grim expression and added quietly, "You're dead."

"Potter miraculously resurrected me so I could torture him for the rest of his life."

Ginny looked at him seriously for a moment before pronouncing confidentally, "Yeah, you're really Snape."

"_Professor _Snape."

"How did you survive? Harry told me all about Nagini and… " She trailed off, still watching the Potions Master closely.

"Ask Potter if you really want to know."

"He would have told me!"

Snape's eyebrows lifted. "He hasn't?"

A flash of emotion went over Ginny's face before she exclaimed with way too much enthusiasm, "So where did Harry go?"

"Did you hear nothing I said? I don't know. He just ran off."

Ginny observed wryly, "You do have that effect on people."

Ignoring the strong impulse to stare down the girl for a few hours, Snape inquired, "You are old enough to Apparate, correct?"

"Destination, Deliberation, Determination!" exclaimed Ginny with a twinkle in her eye.

Snape growled, "Well, there's that at least. I really didn't relish the thought of escorting you home. Go Apparate. Go home."

Ginny didn't move an inch.

"Miss Weasley, go home! Apparate! Get lost!"

"Snape, you know Harry will be just fine. He has been taking care of himself his entire life," said Ginny softly and matter-of-factly. "I promise I won't tell him how much you are worried about him—"

Snape's lips tightened.

"—but he really will be fine on his own. Hasn't he proved that after dealing with Voldemort?"

Internally, Snape winced at hearing the Dark Lord's name but he chose not to correct the Weasley girl. It was about time the wizarding world called that megalomaniac by his true name. But Severus Snape would never—could never—call the Dark Lord by his true name.

"Go home, Miss Weasley. Now."

With a quick knowing look, Ginny said, "I'll be back in the morning," and disappeared.

**oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Walking into the small Muggle village, Harry could see that it was a little late for a cup of tea. Very few lights lit up the windows of cottages around him. Every shop was closed down and no one walked the streets. He vaguely wondered what his chances of finding an open bed and breakfast were.

His uncle's face flashed in his mind and he shrugged the mental image away before his lungs could tighten. He double-checked himself for anything that might give his wizarding heritage away. Luckily, he had taken to wearing Muggle clothes again, just in case. In the back of his mind was always the feeling that he should be prepared to leave at a moment's notice.

As his stomach growled, Harry thought of his flat sans Severus Snape. He missed the place. He had called it home for only a couple of months but that was enough to convince his heart that it really was home. Harry Potter couldn't call any other place home. He didn't dare to set foot in the Burrow and, since Dumbledore died, Hogwarts felt empty. He hadn't gone out of his way to socialize either. Something was holding him back; something he couldn't put his finger on.

Yes, that flat was the best spot in the world at the moment. Until the Potions Master had showed up. And now Harry was standing in the middle of a Muggle village, hungry and tired and cold and starting to get pissed off.

Why shouldn't he sleep in his own bed?

The thought jolted him. Yes, why shouldn't he sleep in his own bed? It was his! As was the flat, the furniture in the flat, and the cushions on the furniture in the flat!

Seething, Harry turned in the middle of the street and ran back to his broom a few miles away. He grabbed his broom from inside the bush where he had carefully hidden it and hopped on, flying all the way back to Hogsmeade.

By the time he arrived at his back door, it was dawn and the sun was starting to peek over the horizon. He didn't notice the cheerfulness of the birds around him or the crisp air of a new day. His brain was foggy underneath his furious determination to throw Snape out his flat and never see the Potions Master again. He wasn't entirely sure if it was possible to throw Snape out of any place, but he would give it his best effort.

Despite his anger, Harry found himself entering the flat quietly. Why awaken a sleeping dragon?

He shouldn't have bothered. Greeting him right inside the door was the blackest stare he had ever seen. Harry took a moment to gather himself—his anger still throbbing in the back of his mind—and told that black stare, "You're awake early."

"I don't sleep at night. You know that, Potter. And now, it seems, neither do you. How was the Twilight Princess last night?"

"Expensive. Snape, get out of my home."

Black eyebrows rose. "Can't wait half a year?"

"Oh please!" shouted Harry. "I don't give a flying fuck if you're dying! Did you really think showing up on my doorstep with a sob story would suddenly change my opinion of you?"

Something nagged at him as he vented, but he continued.

"I would like to live my life just once as I would like to, without the interference of you or anyone else. I don't want to worry about Death Eaters running around still or what the weather will be like tomorrow! I don't care what's out there lying in wait for me. I just want to live, Snape, and you are making that impossible."

Harry paused to take a breath, the intensity of his green eyes matching Shape's for perhaps the first time in his life. Taking advantage of the break, Snape cut in. "Right. Go do something then. Go live."

"First, I'm going to sleep," replied Harry tensely. "After you leave my flat."

"Alright then. I think I'll go for a saunter in downtown Hogsmeade in the middle of the day and see how long it takes me to get cursed. Contact George Weasley; maybe he wants to start up the bets. I'm rather good at dodging and countering so I think I have a fighting chance to last at least a couple of minutes. Cheers." And Snape walked through the backdoor.

And that nagging thought came to the forefront of Harry's mind, the angry fog finally dissipated. Snape was Dumbledore's most-trusted man behind the lines of the war with Voldemort.

Dumbledore's most-trusted spy walked through the backdoor into the open air, into a world he didn't truly exist in or could really exist in.

The last person in the world he would have wished to be his mother's childhood friend walked out of that door.

With anger choking his voice still, Harry said tersely, "Stay. This is the only place really safe for you and I would be doing Albus Dumbledore a disfavor throwing you out. So stay."

The Potions Master stopped his purposeful walk and turned. He had reached the fence. Harry suddenly realized that he wasn't joking. Severus Snape really was going to walk into downtown Hogmeade with only his wand for protection. Yes, the man was formidable with a wand but even Snape knew he would last less than a minute.

"So Albus is once again my savior," remarked the Potions Master wryly. "When will that old man leave me alone?"

Harry replied without hesitation, feeling very little remorse, "Yeah, you think killing him would have done that."

Snape's usually stony face betrayed his pain, reminding Harry vividly of that night a year and a half ago. "Don't ever mention that again, Potter, if you want to drink untainted orange juice for the next few months."

His black robes rustling, the Potions Master swept past Harry back into the house. He told the young man as he went by, "Dining room, now. Breakfast is ready. Since I had all night, it is rather excellent. Make sure you wash your hands."

Dreading the next six months, Harry followed him in.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

_Author's Note:_ It has been a very long time, huh? Thanks to all who are still reading my endeavor into the Harry Potter universe.

Good news: I am all graduated and smart now, so I can write good. Bad news: My current job keeps me very busy and spare time is about the same as it was but I need the relaxation and mental stimulation more than ever so I find myself drawn to this story constantly.

Give the next chapter a couple of weeks to marinate, sealed tightly in a Ziploc bag on the bottom of the refrigerator…


	5. Just One Question, Potter

Disclaimer: Not my franchise. J.K. Rowling's.

**Chapter 5: Just One Question, Potter**

The silence at the kitchen table was palpable. Occasionally a fork clanked against a plate and the sound of a cup being firmly set down broke the quiet, but those sounds were minimal against the noisy racing minds of both occupants.

Egg casserole, fruit salad and a small roasted duck was laid out in the middle of the table. Initially, Harry Potter's reaction to the food in front of him was annoyed but stubbornly silent. The Potions Master didn't deny his incredible self-satisfaction and smirked, as if to say, "I dare you not to eat it."

Halfway through the meal, it was obvious that whoever prepared the meal was no longer an issue. The food was almost completely gone, thanks to the Boy-Who-Lived's young appetite. Snape never had much of an appetite and this morning was no exception.

"That was excellent, Snape," said the boy off-handedly, pointedly noticing the Potions Master's own plate. "Don't want to eat your own excellent cooking?"

Irritated that the peaceful silence was broken, Snape shot back, "Explain what happened last night."

Harry almost choked on a mouthful of duck. After swallowing the meat in a big gulp, he reciprocated, "We pissed each other off. That's unusual?"

"You know what I'm talking about, Potter. Don't be an idiot."

"Look, Snape, you were there. You know exactly what happened."

"Yes, you froze up like one of the Weasleys' unfortunate stunned garden gnomes. Explain."

"You put me in a hold!"

"After you quite forcibly attempted to thrown me out of the living room, Potter. What did you expect?"

"Can you teach me that?"

"I would prefer not to teach you anything. We both know how that turns out." Before Potter could retaliate, the Potions Master continued, "And what would be the point of teaching you how to defend yourself without a wand if you play dead every time you are threatened? I am amazed you lasted this long."

"That was the first time that has ever happened to me," said Harry quietly, embarrassment coloring his words. "I never freeze up, even in front of Voldemort. I doubt it will happen again."

Severus Snape could always tell when Lily Evans was lying and the same was certainly true about her son. "Somehow I don't believe you, Potter."

Harry bolted out of his chair, green eyes on fire. "Don't you fucking use Legilimency on me!"

"Sit down," commanded the older man. "If I do attempt such a thing, it will be as a last resort. Now, please answer truthfully: when has that happened before?"

"I'm going to sleep." Harry took his dishes from the table and moved to grab the professor's as well, but Snape stopped him.

"I can take these to the sink myself." Under the Potions Master's black knowing gaze, Potter seemed to shrink. The boy's face was a little haggard and his eyes red after flying against the wind all night. "You may as well sit down. We both know you're not getting sleep for a while yet."

The boy sat slowly. "I'm exhausted enough that I don't think it would matter."

"Potter, here's the issue: there is something going on in that mind of yours so debilitating that you freeze instead of defending yourself."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the professor rolled on.

"If you cannot find resolution for whatever it is that is plaguing you, you will never think clearly and will be easy to deceive. You are a fool, Potter, don't get me wrong, but you are a fool in the same sense Albus Dumbledore was a fool."

The boy seemed to start at this underhanded compliment.

"Don't do everyone who loved you a disservice by leading a menial existence because you are too terrified to tackle the simple task of preparing yourself to meet the challenges life will continue to send you. So I ask again: why did you give up instead of fighting back last night?"

The boy was so silent and unmoving that the Potions Master wondered if maybe he was too forthright. But Harry shook his head quickly, as if to clear the cobwebs of exhaustion, and replied, "How difficult was that for you, Snape?"

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Difficult?"

"I believe you just treated me like a human being and complimented me within the space of two minutes." The boy's mouth was in half a grin but his eyes were serious, questioning.

"Don't get used to it, Potter. And you are again avoiding the question."

"The truth is that I truly do not know where it came from."

Snape could see that Harry Potter was struggling. The boy did know where that reflex to play dead stemmed from; he merely chose not to recognize the truth. It was time to stop playing nice.

"Potter, I have seen that reaction before."

Now he had the boy's attention.

"As a Death Eater, I have witnessed that same reaction in a few of the wizards Voldemort decided to torture first before executing."

The boy looked sick.

"Since your time at Hogwarts was full of pampering and obscene amounts of love, I can only assume that this has something to do with the Dursleys."

The boy looked sicker.

"Am I right?"

Harry Potter's reaction proved that Snape had indeed hit the proverbial nail on its head. He stood and walked out the back door. The Potions Master let him.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Very little of Harry's previous experience could prepare him for the onslaught of thoughts and feelings and memories that assaulted his mind. A part of him wanted to just fall asleep and forget the last day had ever happened. He knew the second his head hit the pillow, he would be blissfully unconscious. But what would happen when he woke up? The same dread he felt now would return.

Snape's "Go live" from the previous night rang in his head and wouldn't relent in its nagging. Snape was right. He needed to get this figured out.

The issue wasn't mustering the courage to work it out anymore. It was the simple question: where to begin?

A part of him really wanted to go in and continue this very strange and unusual conversation with one of his most hated professors. But Snape? Why Snape?

The Potions Master didn't see him as the glorious Boy-Who-Lived. He saw Harry Potter, the son of Lily Evans and James Potter. He had no illusions about the almost 18-year-old young man. And because the blinders were off and public opinion held no sway in the heart of Severus Snape, he was able to see Harry Potter for exactly who he was.

Harry found that realization very disconcerting. He disliked the wizarding world's glorification of him but he had grown used to hiding behind the mask of the Boy-Who-Lived. What happened when he no longer had the mask?

Resolutely, Harry Potter turned and walked back into the dining room, just in time to see the Potions Master shoot up the antidote, his black sleeve rolled up. The absence of the Dark Mark was almost as glaring as the Dark Mark itself.

"Snape, you shouldn't do drugs around children. Bad influence and all that."

"There are plenty of things you shouldn't do around children," shot Snape back. "And I believe you can attest to a couple of them." He put the needle back into his robes to refill later and rolled down his sleeve.

"You don't have to hide your arm anymore, you know. You should get some summer robes. I saw Gladrags just got a shipment of tie-dye robes from the western United States that would look brilliant on you."

There was no reaction from Snape and Harry didn't really expect one. "Potter, you had your breath of fresh air. Now answer the question."

"You won't let it go, will you?" asked Harry, sitting down.

"Do you really want me to?" replied Snape dryly.

"No. You are right. I need to figure this out."

"Good." Snape began to lazily swish his wand, the dishes on the table going to the sink and washing themselves. Plastic wrap and empty containers flew out of drawers for the leftover food and soon the kitchen was spotless. "Potter, you really should have Molly show you a few household spells. It will make your life much easier."

"I will get around to it," said Harry off-handedly.

"No, I think you will go to the Weasleys tonight for dinner and learn those spells while you are there."

"What?"

"Yes, Errol flopped into the kitchen this morning with an invitation and you enthusiastically sent back the reply that you would indeed join them tonight and are looking forward to spending time with them."

"'Enthusiastically,' Snape?"

"I was very enthusiastic."

"I can't see you being enthusiastic about an invitation to the Weasleys' for the evening."

"Oh, but I can't imagine anything you would enjoy more than spending an evening with the Weasleys, Mr Potter. So yes, I was very enthusiastic."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of the Potions Master's dry tone. "Snape, I would rather not spend the evening with the Weasleys."

"I was under the impression that you have always enjoyed their company."

"It's a little difficult right now, Snape."

"If you must write back and let them know that after your genuinely thrilled RSVP you can no longer attend dinner because of the difficulty of Flooing or Apparating there, by all means, go ahead."

Harry acknowledged that he was cornered. As much as he didn't relish the thought of being around Weasleys that evening, he could imagine Mrs Weasley's face when she received the owl telling her that her favorite adopted son had changed his mind. He didn't want to disappoint the person who had killed Bellatrix Lestrange in defense of her children. There were very few people Harry Potter respected or loved as much as Molly Weasley, and Severus Snape knew it, dammit.

"Of course I will go," Harry told the professor. "Now about the Dursleys…"

He had Snape's full attention but found he couldn't continue.

The Potions Master cued, "Yes, about them?"

"Perhaps those eleven years weren't the ideal childhood."

"I know you lived in a cupboard, Potter. Not at all 'ideal' but living arrangements certainly don't send grown young men into comatose states."

Harry took a deep breath, unsure of how much he should tell Snape, of how much he _could_ tell the man. He decided to stay vague for his own sanity. "Vernon was an angry bastard. I learned quickly that it was better just to stay quiet and let things roll over then fight back."

"And that's why you froze when I put you into that hold."

Harry gulped and found himself speechless. He wasn't really sure if Vernon's anger was the cause but it seemed the most likely culprit.

Reliably observant, Snape drawled, "Potter, you must understand that you are very good at surviving. Too good, from what I have seen. Under the Dursleys' superb care, your young mind learned ways of dealing with the environment around you that are not at all healthy. If you agree not to run away when things get difficult, I will agree to help you unlearn those things that will put you in danger in a world very unlike the Dursleys' house where playing dead will, in fact, lead to death."

There was nothing in Harry's mind that questioned Snape's motives. He knew exactly what was driving Severus Snape to helping him, and Harry was willing to collect on that old debt. Despite any misgivings he had about Snape in the past, he found himself wholly trusting the man. He still did not like him—Harry Potter didn't think he could ever grow to actually like the ex-Death Eater—but he trusted him. Perhaps he didn't trust him as much as Dumbledore but, if nothing else, Dumbledore's complete trust in the man underscored Harry's own.

"Ok, Snape. I agree."

The Potions Master's reaction was so slight that Harry would have missed it if he had blinked. Oddly, Snape looked relieved and somewhat lighter for a moment.

"Potter, I believe that is enough of this conversation for one day. I suggest you get some sleep before going to the Weasleys' tonight. You will need it. I am certain they are as loud and obnoxious as ever."

Harry took his advice, feeling slightly apprehensive about the days ahead.

**oooooooooooooooooooooooo**

_Author's Note:_ Thanks to all for the kind reviews. There is nothing quite as encouraging for this author! Notice, I wrote a chapter in three days. I'm not sure that has ever happened. ;)

More to come.


	6. A Prelude to Weasleys

Disclaimer: We all know that I'm not J.K. Rowling, so let's get to the story, shall we?

**Chapter 6: A Prelude to Weasleys**

Severus Snape found himself with the distinct dilemma of having absolutely nothing to do. An unconscious Harry Potter was the best kind of Potter, of course, but Snape needed something to do—anything.

Suppressing a low growl that crept into his throat and setting proximity spells around the flat, Snape let his legs automatically take him to the most obvious place for a Potions Master to spend his free hours: the potions lab he had discretely set up in Potter's laundry room. With a few expansion charms and some well-placed concealment spells, Harry Potter had no idea that there was a fully operational lab in his own flat.

It had taken all of Snape's ingenuity to retrieve his ingredients and second best cauldron from Spinner's End after he moved into Potter's flat. Although the trashed house of his childhood appeared completely abandoned, Snape knew better. He could practically smell the presence of the Order. What did they hope to find in a dead man's house? He didn't keep a bloody diary.

Snorting, Snape catapulted a pile of clothes to the other side of the room with a flick of his wand. Stepping in the same spot the laundry had occupied, he muttered, "Damn that old man," and the wall before him disappeared, allowing him access to a room almost as big as the flat itself.

Along the back wall, below the jars of liquids and powders and dead bugs, was a row of vials that contained the rest of the antidote he needed—and then some, just in case.

Snape had nothing left to brew and, while the Potions Master rarely let himself be caught in a moment of sentiment, he couldn't disassemble the lab. A house without a potions lab was a very uncomfortable one—especially Harry Potter's house. That boy had a remarkable propensity for ending up in hospital and, inevitably, Snape would have to brew a potion to help the boy grow his own head back. With that thought, the Potions Master decided he may as well brew a batch of Skelegro for the hell of it.

Just as he was about to add the first ingredient, the proximity spell at the backdoor squealed an alarm only he could hear.

Stepping out of his lab, which promptly shrank and concealed itself once more, he replaced the pile of laundry to its original resting place and stalked to the backdoor. If Potter was leaving again, so help him, Snape would send him to a monastery in Tibet.

No, it wasn't Potter. Ginny Weasley glared up at him underneath red hair, very reminiscent of her mother.

"Well?" she asked. "Did you find him?"

"Of course I did," snapped the Potions Master. There was no reason to tell the nosy girl that Potter had returned on his own.

He waited for her leave.

She didn't. Obviously, the Dark Lord's death and Severus Snape's own redemption in the eyes of the wizarding world had softened his image. Too much.

Harshly, he barked, "What?"

Ginny Weasley did jump a little, to which Snape smirked, but then the girl asked, her voice strong, "How was he?"

"Tired and now he's sleeping. There's no reason for you to be here."

The redhead walked into the living room and sat down. Snape followed briskly.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. "Potter is asleep and I certainly do not wish your company."

"Professor, I have a lot of questions," the girl said simply.

"None of which I feel obligated to answer," pointed out her old professor. "I was in the middle of an important potion when you broke in."

"I can help you!" Miss Weasley exclaimed, her eagerness painfully faked.

"No, the potion has been sitting too long and it is ruined," lied Snape easily. "Please escort yourself out."

"Professor, I'm not leaving until you tell me how and why you are here."

"I am a Potions Master who—this shouldn't surprise a girl of your intelligence—created an antidote to Nagini's venom. The Dark Lord had a habit of letting that abomination loose on anyone and everyone, merely on a whim. You don't think I would have sat by and let a creature that dangerous curl up next to me without an antidote quite literally up my sleeve?"

Ginny gnawed on this information for a short moment and then asked, "Why are you hiding?"

"People like you, Miss Weasley," replied Snape wryly.

"Why are you sharing a flat with my boyfriend?"

"You two are back together?" retorted the professor cruelly.

Ginny visibly winced and sat back down. "Professor, I need to know that Harry's alright. I haven't seen him in three weeks."

"He will be over for dinner tonight. Ask him then."

"But why are you here? Is he ill? Has he been cursed?"

Snape looked at her carefully for a moment before replying, "I am merely here to finish where Albus left off." Before she could respond, he continued, "You have told no one about me, correct?"

"I'm not mental, Professor."

"Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew did get sorted into your house."

Miss Weasley was relentless. "Is there more that Harry has to do then? The Horcruxes were enough, weren't they? The Dark Lord really is gone, right?"

"Slow down, Miss Weasley! Yes, the Dark Lord is dead and he will never return. I suggest—again—that you talk to Harry this evening. You have overstayed your welcome. Do not tell anyone that I am alive. Believe me when I tell you that my life—and Potter's life—are both at stake if you do let that information slip. Now leave."

The girl grinned as she stood. "I will be sure to talk to 'Harry' this evening, Professor. I'm sure I will see you again soon."

"Do leave, Miss Weasley."

**ooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Though shut down by the Ministry after Voldemort's death, Diagon Alley nevertheless existed. Darker and less frequented, the alley was still a marketplace for black market business in a convenient enough location. A magical passageway set up in Hogsmeade expedited business and provided another escape route. Aurors raided the alley weekly; although, they had yet to find anything more incriminating than a mug that cursed the drinker with indigestion for a week. Even Borgin and Burkes had cleaned up, removing their shadier stock to a place only accessible by a special Portkey.

Across the infamous shop, Patricia Yaxley sat against a grimy alley wall, close to the place where she had met that nice black-haired boy. Her matted hair and blank expression blended in with her surroundings.

Voices floated down to her from the dirty window above.

"—little we can do!"

Brutal laughter. "Nott, remember that you have a son stripped of his Pureblood privilege."

"The Malfoys—"

"—are not here, are they? And believe me, they will get their due."

A different voice broke in, this one calmer. Patricia Yaxley drew her threadbare cloak tighter around her, the air suddenly chilled.

"We are few, my friends. Nott is correct in saying there is little we can do." Protests rang out but this confident voice continued on, "Which makes it absolutely imperative that we do exactly what needs to be done and not fight about what store to blow up or what Muggle shall entertain us for the evening. It is even more important that we four are of one mind and focus on the important issues."

"Bravo, Mulciber," interjected the brutal voice. Patricia could almost see the Death Eater's teeth in his leering voice.

"MacNair, if you would rather be in Azkaban, by all means go and raid some poor village shop and kill a Muggle. The Aurors will be on your position before you even draw your wand."

"I haven't touched my wand since the Last Battle!" exclaimed Walden MacNair viciously.

"For good reason!" countered Mulciber. "Did you forget that Aurors have traces on all of our wands?"

The fourth Death Eater, who had yet to say a word, began to laugh. His wild, unrestrained laughter sent chills down Patricia's spine.

"Yes, Avery?"

"It's just that—" Avery doubled over and held up a hand to keep the others quiet until he got a handle on his emotions. "I can't believe you three have not yet stolen a wand!" And with this, he held up an old wand made from the branch of an apple tree. Its reddish brown sheen was barely visible in the dark room. "Am I really the only one who can perform magic undetected?"

"Avery, you know well that one just doesn't go out and steal a wand," replied Nott's thin voice.

"I may not have the power that I have with my own, but at least I can perform a simple eavesdrop spell! You have all grown careless."

And with that pronouncement, everything went silent around Patricia Yaxley and, with nothing else to entertain her, she promptly fell into a deep doze.

**ooooooooooooooooooooooo**

Harry Potter jolted awake, a firm knock shaking his door. Yawning and picking up his glasses, he sat up while the insistent knocking continued.

"Dammit, Snape, I'm awake!"

"Good," floated the muffled Potions Master's voice from the other side of the door. "Would you like me to set out your clothes for you as well?"

"Go to hell."

Harry heard a curt "See me before you leave" as footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Quickly changing, Harry couldn't stop his heart from racing. He hadn't visited the Burrow since Fred's funeral. He knew he would be whole-heartedly welcomed but braced himself for a very uncomfortable evening.

Finding Snape on the back patio with the shades drawn down to hide him from the sun and the neighbors, Harry sat next to him and leaned his broom against the house. "So?"

"Talk to that old girlfriend of yours. She broke into the flat and consequently knows that I am living here."

"Ginny?" Harry had a terrible image of Cho Chang screaming as she ran from the ghost of the most-hated professor at Hogwarts.

"Yes, Ginny Weasley!" snapped the Potions Master. "Have you snogged all of the Wizarding World? Tell her that you are just fine and to stay away. I don't need the company."

Harry smirked. "She will be back tomorrow. That's just Ginny. Nothing I say will keep her away, Snape."

"Lovely," drawled the professor, as he drew the shades further down around them. "Tell her not to disturb the peace of a dying man then."

Harry Potter looked at Severus Snape, his green eyes searching. At the end of the Boy-Who-Lived's second year at Hogwarts, he had felt the intense pain of basilisk venom in his veins. When Harry thought he was going to die then—and again at the Battle of Hogwarts—an unexplainable serenity had settled into his thoughts and mind.

He couldn't help but wonder if Snape's poisoning felt the same way, only the Potions Master had the ability to postpone the lethality of the venom. Was the pain still there? Again, Harry wondered why Snape would choose to live with the pain instead of letting the poison take its inevitable course and embrace the peace in death that even the Boy-Who-Lived understood.

"I can feel your pity," said the Potions Master quietly. "I don't need it. Go to the Weasleys."

Harry grabbed his broom and walked to the end of the porch, where he turned and told the older man, "Unfortunately, we are sharing a flat, and I have that 'saving people thing' you constantly mock me for. You didn't come here to die and we both know it."

And Harry Apparated off the porch with an energy he hadn't felt in a very long time, leaving the professor without the last word for once.

**oooooooooooooooooooooo**

_Author's Note:_ …there really isn't anything to say this time except thanks for the reviews and surreptitious favorite-ing! I really do appreciate every one.

Next chapter will be posted in less than two weeks.


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